Enemies On A Different Battlefield
by marrion.nette
Summary: They part as enemies, they meet as enemies. Will they stay enemies or for their company's sake, put aside their differences? Or are they too different? Why then did they choose such a similar path? HPDM (rating might go up)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – The Talk of Merger**

Harold Evans dropped into his bed unceremoniously after the tiring day. Physically tired and mentally exhausted. It was good, he thought. It distracted him well enough.

At twenty-five, Harold Evans was a very successful businessman indeed. His company, Sirius, was one of the worldwide major supplier of electronic games. That is to say that he is rich and one of the society's most eligible bachelor. Yet he was a lonely man. Business associates of his should be enough company, but one did not call people who tried to swallow your business and doing their best to render you penniless a friend. Therefore, it all came back to square one, and even though he wasn't really happy about it, he was content. Better to have no friends than have hypocrites, or even worse, people whom he could possibly harm.

Just as he was on the border of dreamland, poundings on the door were heard and said-person could only groan as he was really too sleepy to eat.

"YOU COME OUT HERE THIS MINUTE AND EAT YOUR DINNER, YOU SKINNY LUMP OF BONES! I KNOW YOU'RE THERE AND STOP SNEAKING PAST ME!" The rants of the woman did not stop, so did the loud bangs on the door.

"Alright, alright! Gerrof..." He mumbled. He gave serious thought to summoning his wand and do a silencing charm on the door but after putting it away for more than seven years, he did not want to make wand-waving a habit.

Lazily, he got up. Mrs Letter was his housekeeper and he owed it to her that he did not die of starvation as most of the time, he was too tired to eat, not to mention cook. The dear old woman was like Mrs Weasley in many ways, who adopted him in every way except in name. She was a next-door neighbour when he lived in a flat after graduation. Due to an unfortunate fire, she was homeless as all her belongings were kept in the flat and her pension money was meager. It wasn't too bad actually, as it gave him a chance to get a new and bigger house since he could more than afford it. He couldn't bear seeing Mrs Letter, who had been more than just a next-door neighbour to him getting sent away to some run down Old Folks' Home and decided to let her stay with him. She had refused, for fear of imposing. After staying temporarily, she noticed how much the boy needed mothering and decided to stay for the price of keeping him well fed and ensuring that he was well taken care off.

With a sleepy yawn, Harold exited the room only to be given a very nasty glare. He greeted her half-heartedly and shuffled down to the kitchen and sat down at the table, where a large serving of homemade lasagne was sitting on his plate. Only when the aroma of the still warm food hit his nose did he realize that he was somewhat hungry. Wolfishly, he dug in and not long after, he had finished the whole plate.

He looked up only to see Mrs Letter entering the kitchen with an approving look. Before he had a chance to even say Quidditch, she had whisked off his plate and returned with a glass of milk.

"Thanks a lot Mrs Letter, but I'm really..." He didn't even have the chance to say the next word because the woman had shoved the glass under his nose.

"No buts! Drink!"

He sighed resignedly. Although, when it came down to this, he could not complain much. After so many years, he had at least found a nice home, with someone who genuinely cared about him to mind it. Making a face, he gulped down the glass and put it down again, to burp loudly, which seemed to satisfy the old lady sitting opposite him.

It appeared, however, she wasn't ready to let him go yet.

"How was your day?" She asked.

"It was fine." He mumbled non-commitally.

"HAROLD EVANS! Don't you dare lie to me!"

"All right, it was horrible. Happy now?"

She chuckled at his disgruntled look.

"He wouldn't give up would he? All the same, it would do you good to marry and settle down you know. Then I would have someone else to fuss about. Maybe I could even get you to make a few babies to call me Granny."

"Mrs Letter, that woman is terrible. She's a complete airhead and will marry me only for my money. As soon as I sign the papers, John Howards would usurp my company and throw me out of my office. After a while, he would ask his daughter to file for a divorce on some trumped up charges and half of my fortune along with my company would go to him. Then he would be laughing at me." He sighed at the thought.

"Still, that woman is quite good looking..." She teased him relentlessly, and enjoyed baiting him immensely, which had been a routine for the years she had mothered him.

"Alright, alright. I give up. Who would have thought that such a jovial looking old man could be that horrible?" he grumbled.

Truthfully, associating with other people wasn't an easy task for him at first as he had been so used to the concept that bad people usually looked horribly scary and disgusting, and while the good did not necessarily be good looking, a good-looking person is highly unlikely to be the "bad-guy". Some of the people he knew in the battleground he is fighting on currently were far from ugly or ill mannered. Most of them were normal people, who turned dangerous only when things don't go according to their wishes. Still, after his life in a constant war and with his hackles up, he was prepared for anything when he embarked on another new journey.

"Honestly my dear boy, if you'd take the advice of a senile old lady, I would suggest that you go and meet this unknown opponent of yours. The way that man John Howard's talk about him, it is obvious that he is as much of a threat to his company as he is to yours. From the point I see it, he wanted the marriage to secure his own footing and make sure this unknown opponent won't affect his business."

"It might work...but then Lucifer Black isn't someone you'd like to mess with. His reputation precedes him and if John Howards get wind that I'm not interested in his hints at this marriage he's trying to set up, he might sever the temporary alliance and offer it Black instead." He replied dubiously.

"Well, what are you waiting for then? Go and make, what you call it, alliance, with this Black-person. Then it would get John Howards off your back and you needn't worry about your company closing down. Although I wouldn't mind it. Then you can stay home and keep me company. God knows you are rich enough. Maybe you should get a countryside house. The air would do you much good, I daresay."

"And you would spoil me rotten with your cooking and tell me your numerous stories as a young girl. I must say it is really tempting. But don't you think it would be such a pity to throw away the entire set of cards I've been blessed with to play?"

"Ah," she sniffed, "All you business people are the same. Your playground all stink of money and deception. Go to bed, Harry. You still have to attend what sickening business talk tomorrow. Even though it would be amusing for you to fall asleep, I'm sure it wouldn't do much for your image, even if you look cute while you sleep." She added as an afterthought.

He frowned a little. She called him Harry again. She always said Harold sounded too formal and thought that Harry makes a fine nickname. Although she hadn't called him by anything but "you, boy!" or "lumpy bag-of-bones" seeing how skinny he was, lately.

"Alright, good night!" He gave her a peck on the cheek and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, which adjoined his workroom. Truthfully, he had little thought for sleep as new possibilities began to open up for him. Mrs Letter seems to be just a harmless old lady who happened to be worse than a mother hen at minding her chicks, although in reality, she was much wiser and more cunning than she appeared.

He wasn't tired anymore as he passed by his bed and went straight for the telephone lying on his work-desk. Dialing the all-too-familiar number of his secretary, he waited impatiently for him to pick up his phone. When finally the voice of a disgruntled secretary floated out of the receiver at being called at an ungodly hour, he picked up his notepad and jotted down the things he wanted to tell his secretary so that he would not forget it himself.

"Frank, go compose a letter, I don't care how long it is or how flowery. I just want it to suggest that John Howards arrange a three-way meeting with Lucifer Black and me. Its high time I see for myself that towering reputation of his. If he accepts it, make reservations at some prestigious hotel restaurant; preferably not French since I can't stand French food and you know that, for four people, under my name. Go and find a date which suits all of us for the merry get-together."

A pause. Then,

"Mr Evans, do you think this is wise? Wouldn't it be preferable if you get a stronger or more permanent alliance with Skyne before..."

"Yes, yes. That would mean me marrying the Howards girl. I have no intention of having a wife squander all my money away while I work hard to earn it. That'd be all."

"It'll be as you say, Mr Evans. Good night."

After hanging up, Harry thought about it a bit. The hectic life kept his mind occupied and stopped him from thinking about the past too much. Here in the muggle-world, he was nobody. He was just Harold Evans, a successful businessman and nothing else. Not saviour of the Wizarding world, not someone everyone expected a lot from. It was a good hiding place. He did not alter his appearance much except to get rid of his glasses, which were replaced by contacts. Otherwise, he was still rather skinny, rather good-looking young man. He wasn't a vain person, as can be seen from what others may perceive as lack of fashion sense. Overall, he was content, if not happy with his life.

Black. It reminded him of... No, he would not think about it. It's just a coincidence that Lucifer Black had the same surname as his Godfather. He's dead, Harry reminded himself. That cold feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought that it was him who led his Godfather to his death never disappeared, even after so long. He tried to shrug it off, and bury himself with the mundane task of cleaning his workroom. It was long due to be cleaned anyway, as he piled and filed those papers he wanted and needed, and discarded those that were useless.

After thoroughly satisfied that his work-desk was at least clear of the usual pile of mess, he switched off the light and jumped into bed, with the last comforting thought that at least he was rid of the Wizarding world for good. Of course he could be wrong.

* * *

"Hey Luce, how was your day, darling?" The voice of some woman sounded as soon as he picked up his cell-phone. 

He didn't even know how all these people gotten his number. It was so bad sometimes that he had to change his number more than once a month.

He didn't even bother to answer as he switched off his cell-phone. Honestly, these women were a pain in the ass. They ranged from daughters of wealthy people, to females working in his or other companies. Most of them have nothing between their ears but fluff, and those with some brains only used it to get the wealthiest husband they can find.

It wasn't that he wasn't fond of women. Some dinner with a nice conversational topic is okay, but there has never been one able to keep his interest for long. Most of them only asked him out for dinner for the sake of interviewing him and gauging whether he would make a nice prey for a husband.

He went to his wine cabinet and found that his supply of wine was running low. He had to get some more. And being rich as he was, he would only get the best. That meant making a trip to France. He could never trust anyone else to get his wine for him. Only his taste was good enough and he wanted only the best. Besides, his ancestors came from France so he felt an affinity for that country.

He sat back down on his couch, deciding not to drink for the night. The telly held nothing of his interest except the stock market prices that were displayed in Bloomberg. As the familiar music heralding the 9 o'clock news sounded, he settled himself deeper in his couch. Even though the news changed everyday, he found no point in keeping up with most of it. They were pure crap and as long as nothing earthshaking happened that would affect the Wall Street too badly, he couldn't be bothered. The other channels held even less of his interest. Perhaps that was because he never found a good movie to watch, but as it was, the soaps of New York City were more for housewives and teenagers still believing that love and friendship existed. Maybe it really did, he would never know.

His father had killed his mother, proving that there was no love lost between them. His father didn't listened to his wife and son, deciding instead to be at the beck-and-call of one madman who called himself the Lord. His mother was given strict orders to be stern and cold to him, as it was thought to be good training. He didn't even find out whether his mother had more love for him than his father since she was mostly out, to what business, he didn't know although he supposed it involved cheating on his dad and a lot of shagging.

Lately, his newest obstacle was John Howards his daughter. He wanted an alliance. He knew John Howards was a scheming old man, yet he could swing this into his advantage too, seeing that the well being of his company currently rests at his hands.

And then there was that Harold Evans. If he played his cards right, he might make a successful alliance and get a sizable piece of John Howards' company, and bloody the nose of Harold Evans. He couldn't shake the feeling that Harold Evans was someone he should meet. While making an alliance with John Howards' could be beneficial, he had to see who he was up against if he failed. This was turning into an interesting game.

The phone rang and he picked it up. No one knew the number of his private phone and if his secretary dared to leak it, he would fire her straightaway.

As he put down the phone, he was rather pleased about the whole thing. This was getting to be a nicely matched game, going against two of the reputedly strong opponents. Life is a game and if there was anyone best to play it, it was he. And he was damn ruthless, not to mention toeing out of the rules sometimes. He couldn't wait.

* * *

Harry was looking over the letters he had received that morning. He was running a bit late since he had a lie-in after watching a movie with Mrs Letter the previous night. Even at sixty over, that old lady still had the spirit of a youth. Yesterday was the premier showing of the movie "Haunted" and she had insisted that he bring her to watch. Although he had to admit it was good for him too. It helped take his mind of his so-called "playground" where the kid who failed to play well was chucked out. 

Ron and Hermione had written him a letter each and since they came at the same time, it made him get suspicious of what exactly had happened that they had to write together. Good old' Ron was working at the ministry, together with Mr Weasley. He was currently dating Tonks, and he expected to get a wedding invitation sooner of later. Hermione had decided to travel the world with the enormous sum of money she had acquired by helping to fight the war. However, it looked as if both of them came from the same place.

He was in the midst of sorting through all the other business letters, leaving Ron's and Hermione's for the last. His guests hadn't arrived for lunch yet and he reminisced about the good old days when they were carefree first years. Beyond that, his life wasn't what one would call normal. Even though he still kept in contact with his friends and went for Christmas dinners with the Weasleys, he never wanted to go back to the Wizarding world. He was comfortable with his life and did not want to get out of the shell that he had so protectively build around himself.

He did not get past the first few greeting words of Ron's letter when he heard more than see the arrival of his guests. Putting them aside, he rose and shook the hands of John Howards, as well as his daughter, Larissa. As they moved, he saw the fourth of the party and his mouth nearly dropped in shock.

"Potter." Draco nodded towards his schooldays archenemy, looking him up and down. So this is what happened to the saviour of the Wizarding world. It made him want to laugh. What ill luck he had to be saddled with Potter again!

"Malfoy." Harry replied, equally vehement in his greeting.

He would never forget that family. Draco was a carbon copy of Lucius Malfoy when Harry last saw him. The same platinum-blonde hair and the same aristocratic features, always highlighted in a sneer. Thinking about Lucius Malfoy made him feel a surge of hatred towards his offspring. Lucius Malfoy had killed many innocents, including Aunt Petunia. Even though she wasn't a particularly doting aunt, she was still his blood relative.

He knew he wasn't being fair, since Draco Malfoy wasn't really involved in the war like his father. He did not join the Dark side and had been known to be the second spy for the Order. Then again, seven years worth of dislike on both side did not melt due to some gesture and since they had been treating each other with malice most of the time behind Dumbledore's back, it had become somewhat of a religion.

"How dare you take the surname of my Godfather?" Harry was indignant about it. How dare a Malfoy take the surname of Sirius?

"I should have known. A small modification of your name, added to the surname of your mudblood mother. How pathetic can you be Potter? And need I remind you my mother was also a Black." Draco sneered back.

"Don't you dare call my mother a mudblood, you mother-fucker."

Both waited for the other to say the next insulting thing, mentally preparing themselves for a duel, just like eight years ago, when the best thing to solve a dispute and show the other he was better was a wand-to-wand fight. They forgot that they were in a muggle restaurant. This was back to the days when they would cross path, get into a fight, and receive a detention.

Suddenly, some electric jolt seemed to fly through the air and hit the pair of Howards who had been looking at the two men curiously. They both turned to see both father and daughter's eyes glaze. They both turned again to see the who had performed the memory charm. Kingsley Shakeout was walking towards them with an annoyed expression.

"Boys, this has gone far enough! After so many years and you still fight like a pair of babies! Now be civil to each other or I shall remove both of you from this dining place."

"Kingsley, why are you here?" and "This is none of your business, Shaklebolt" was said simultaneously.

"Obviously, the ministry wanted you both tracked. They would not want to lose you when he needed to find you. Although I must say New York agreed with me. Now behave."

He walked back to his seat and resumed eating his dinner with a young lady who appeared to be his date for that lunch.

Both Draco and Harry were wearing identical scowls at the thought of imbecilic ministry for tagging along when they weren't needed.

"This isn't finished Potter."

"You bet, Malfoy."

All four of them sat down and the two archenemies resumed their roles as Harold Evans and Lucifer Black, while making conversation at John Howards and his daughter.

But both of them knew, this isn't finished. They would continue it at a later and more convenient time. You could even say that they are childish and petty, yet it seemed right to them as they re-embraced their true heritage and actually looked forward to further interaction, a reminder that there was another world which they had belonged to.

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_Draco and Harry and both 25. They're currently residing in New York and happily building their empire and flowing in cash._

_Sirius is Harry's company name while Skyne is John Howards._

_I abandoned this story 2 years ago after writing it, never really sparing a thought for it. Not because of writer's block, more of lack of time and being generally stressed out._

_Today, I was reading one of the fanfics that I've been following and came back to this page. After re-reading it, I decided that it's worth continuing after all._

_I quote my physics teacher :"When there's time, there's hope. When there's hope, you can do almost anything."_

_Fate is funny sometimes. I wrote this in 2004, and then transferred school in 2005. One of my best friend's name now is Sky, and we call him Sky-nee. Maybe I should start naming Draco's company after my friends too._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – An Accident Just had to Happen**

John Howards wasn't pleased at this meeting at all. The possibility of these two opponents of his forming an alliance would be rather fatal for his company and he would try everything to prevent it. However, looking at the way the meeting was going, he would think that the formation of any partnership is out of the question.

Both men were eyeing each other with utter dislike and shooting daggers at each other. Had he known better, he would have said that these two were arch-enemies in high school or something. He knew he was double crossing both of them by the offer of marriage but that secret was safe, looking at the amount of words and loathing they directed at each other.

They made small talk about the weather lately, the prices in the stock market, the country's upcoming elections, and other unrelated topics. None of them brought up the issue of today's meeting, which suited Howards quite fine.

Larissa was currently giggling at a joke that one of the gentlemen made. It didn't matter which. Both of them would suit him fine for the purpose of furthering his empire building.

Skyne is a profitable business. Even though he had to use underhanded means to get his company where it was today, as well as backstab a few people along the way, he did not mind. After all, it was their own fault that the virus protection wasn't up-to-date, was it? All it needed was a few mutated "virus" and Google collapsed, to be followed by the rise of one Skyne. It was added benefit that there was a mild economic depression at that time, which ensured that Google cannot climb back to its former glory.

Search engine, online market, anything off the net, Skyne is there for you. The company motto had always beeen "Skyne can even get the Sky for you if you're willing to pay the price." Just like Harrods really.

Which brings him to making his alliances. Lucifer Black might be residing in New York, yet it was common knowledge to those who are privy to Underworld information that much of his fortune came from London. In fact, Howards had every reason to believe that Black wasn't American. Oh, it was a convincing act, to be sure. But that British accent was present, no matter how mild.

Currently, Black held a lion's share of the shares for Harrods. It was one of his many targets as well. To be the sole operating net for Harrods. Also, Black was deemed as the most successful businessman of his age. He had managed to resurrect Wal-Mart when it nearly collapsed some year back and controlled it with an iron fist. Spin is now the biggest chain of supermarket in North America and Europe. Again, Howards was hoping to be the web for Spin. So far, even though Spin was so successful, it hadn't started to enter the electronic world.

Although alliance with Evans won't be too bad either. One of the most popular gaming industry today, Sirius is the most successful thus far as it consists of more than a thousand varieties of games. What makes it more incredible was the fact that even the older generations are enthralled by the mind-boggling logic problems, fantasy-world adventures, and simple luck games. There were even specialized games for infants that research has proven to boost their IQ. It was no wonder that parents were clamoring to get the newest addition of the IQkidz series. The industry also produces specialized PCs that have features to enhance the gaming experience. If only Skyne can be web provider...after all, Feds, the service provider that hosts the games online, is losing money and may decide to sell their company. Then Howards would make it big.

Howards would just have to plan his move very carefully. As he was thinking about the next pawn that he wanted to move in that impossibly complex chess game...

* * *

That sixth-sense when he was Harry Potter seldom failed before. Of course, when it failed, the disaster that followed was terrible. But more often than not, it saved his and his friends' lives. His five senses were more acute than most people anyway, being trained to live in a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life, he had to strain his ears to catch what was happening in the outside world and be able to see in the dark.

There was a faint sound in the distance that sounded like a high pitched scream to him. And there was that smell of something horrid, although he only caught a whiff and then it was gone. He began to get a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something was not right.

And whenever that happens, his magic would start to pulse, trying to reach out and detect what was wrong. He immediately suppressed it. It wouldn't do to let his magic go out of control after so many years, especially not around two wizards that was present.

The niggling feeling never left him. His magic was getting out of control too. It was a failing of his, which eventually led to the downfall of Voldemort, so it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

But of course, he would be breaching the Statue of Secrecy and now, knowing that there are ministry people trailing behind and dogging his every move, he wasn't about to take the chance and let himself get persecuted.

It got to the point of intolerance such that he had to excuse himself from the table on the pretext of going to the lavatory. As he exited the restaurant and entered the bright hotel lobby, he realised what was happening. Outside, a few blocks away, it was total pandemonium as a bomb had exploded inside the headquarters of Zarc, the famous pharmaceutical company. It didn't make sense that anyone would attack a pharmaceutical company since it hardly makes a difference to the economy. Well, not that big an impact anyway.

In fact, attacking the Swissotel that he currently is dining in would have more impact, if the bombings had a political motive at all. Security council meeting would mean that the leaders of the Big 5 would be in town, and as far as he knew, some of them resided in that particular hotel.

Unless...it was meant to be a diversion...that must be it!

* * *

Lucifer Black was bored. At least with Evans around, he had some intelligent conversation. To the airhead Larissa, it would seem mere small talk. But both knew that there was an undertone to the seemingly polite conversation. And of course, without Evans there, she was getting to be quite clingy, to the point of intolerability. 

At last, he excused himself by pretending that his cell phone rang, and that it was such an important business call.

Anyway, where was Potter? If he was really going to the loo, then he was taking an absurdly long time.

Strolling out towards the exit, or entrance depending on how you look at it, he finally understood Potter's discomfort. He must have felt the sudden blast of energy. It made him feel lucky that he was trained as a Malfoy and able to block himself to change in magical flow and effectively live as a muggle.

He wanted to curse whoever who chose this place for their lunch. It was a close shave. He thanked whatever deities that were protecting him. Apparently, he was not the only one who watched the spectacle. Most of the hotel patrons as well as desk-workers had their noses pressed up the front doors and windows, trying to see what happened. The security guards were surprisingly absent, gone to protect other people or checking the building, more likely. The entrance had been sealed, to prevent the toxic fumes from outside from entering.

It was a bloody sight.

Potter looked on slack-jawed. It was like him really. Uncouth and undignified. And here he was thinking that Potter had learnt some modicum of manners, having maneuvered himself into the upper crust of society after all.

Apparently, he was wrong.

* * *

The lack of curiosity from the man wearing a decent Armani suit standing in the shady corner can be dismissed if not for the fact that beside him lay a disfigured Louis Vuitton bag, as if the round bundle of something is too big to fit in. Any normal person would have dismissed it. 

However, he was not the Saviour of the Wizarding World once for nothing. The lifeless but highly charged with energy aura of that bundle was too coincidental to be dismissed. Heck, it might even be an atomic bomb.

The siren of the ambulance was loud enough such that more and more people were making their way out of the offices, restaurants and even their hotel room to see what the commotion was about.

As if this was a cue, the man in that Armani suit took out his cell phone and began punching in numbers into them.

There was not a moment to lose. Harry Potter or not, Wizarding or Muggle World, the sense of nobility and duty to put others life before his own prevailed. With a speed that was almost non-human, he climbed over the railing and jumped to the first storey. Wizards would have sworn that he apparated to where the man was but it was pure speed. His training had seen to that.

* * *

Following Potter's gaze, Draco couldn't help but notice that pulsing energy that was contained in the Louis Vuitton bag beside the man. As he lowered his magical barrier, the aura became more feel-able. 

As soon as he saw Potter jumping down the balcony, he knew Potter was about to pull of another suicidal act. It was all too predictable, as if it is written in the DNA of every single Hogwarts student, that had graced Gryffindor House with their insufferable presence.

Casting a disillusioning charm on himself, he apparated to the first storey. By then Potter had already taken the Louis Vuitton bag. The most he could do now was to prevent the terrorist from escaping.

* * *

"Open the door you bloody fools!" Harry shouted as he lugged the Louis Vuitton bag with some difficulty. It was heavy. 

No one paid any attention. He screamed again. This time, people looked at him with such incredulity that he almost wanted to roll his eyes.

With a burst of speed, he reached the door, crashed it open with sheer force combined with magical energy and ran towards the empty space outside.

Just as the alarm on the clock of the bundle suddenly rang, Harry wrapped his magical energy around it and jumped onto it.

* * *

As soon as the Armani man saw what Harry had done, he tried to run for it. It would have made Potter's sacrifice meaningless if he couldn't catch the culprit. But Draco Malfoy wasn't a fighter for nothing. He grabbed the man and twisted his arm back and knocking him onto his knees. 

With a single knock, he had broken two limbs, an arm and a knee.

As soon as he did so, a bullet came flying his way and embedded itself into his left shoulder joint, only missing his heart by mere inches. Another came and hit him in the stomach, which made him grunt and double over in pain.

Blood was flowing. Wizard or not, he would be unconscious in a few moments. He had hoped that those foolish muggles would eventually realise that someone had shot him and knock him down. He cursed his own carelessness.

The crack that followed froze his blood. It was the unmistakable crack of disapparation and it come from the general direction of the gun-wielder. But why?

Suddenly, Shaklebolt was beside him. After muttering a stunner at the terrorist, he helped Draco up.

However, darkness finally took over.

* * *

Years later, the trauma of the shock and the closeness never left the muggles who witnessed the explosion of the newly modified atomic bomb. It was a beautiful sight really. Had it not been the intent and the powerful blast it sent, it might even pass off as fireworks. 

Harry Potter tried to keep the force under control, but it was almost impossible as the force threw him backwards. His last thought before passing out was at least the blast was contained.

* * *

"A miracle...really a miracle." 

"It was a brave, if not foolish thing to do..."

"Well, he was burnt thoroughly.."

* * *

Snips of conversation reached his ears before falling out of consciousness again. 

Dr Warren Wallace was puzzled. There was something not right about the bullets that had pierced into the flesh of Lucifer Black. For once, the entry point and exit point suggested that the bullet was much larger than what he was able to take out. For two, he had dug around longer that necessary and still did not find any remnants of bullets embedded in the skin.

The man had been bleeding and unconscious when he was brought to the hospital. Except for the very weak pulse that the man displayed, he might as well have been dead. After four days of critical observation, there did not seem to be any improvements to the man's condition even though the bullets had been removed. The man didn't even show the unconscious response that a human being should show even though he was in a coma.

Dr Wallace prided himself on being one of the best surgeons in John Hopkins Medical Centre and when something isn't right, there was only one thing for it. He wrote an email to his long-time friend Dr Haydn.

* * *

First degree burns took at least six weeks to recover from, especially when it ate deep into the flesh. Some never made it back to the world of the living. However, Harold Evans was never an ordinary person. Two weeks was all it took. When he finally regained consciousness from what he thought was a very long and tiring sleep, he groaned. Then remembering the events that transpired, he asked in a raspy voice, "Am I in heaven?" 

Bandaged from head to toe, he could not turn his head to look at where he was. All his line of vision offered was the telly and the ridiculously white ceiling.

Apparently, he wasn't the only person in the room as the steady rhythm of tap-tap-tap that sounded irritating, stopped at once when he spoke.

"Apparently not, Potter. No place is heaven when we're together."

Oh.

And that voice was familiar.

Bloody hell!

He groaned again, but for entirely different reasons.

If he ever gets to heaven on day, he would kill Fate.

* * *

_Author notes: _

_No prize for guessing who the other person is. _

_This had been a very fun chapter to write. _

_Did I mention that I have a friend called Carissa and we called her Lars? Goes to show that be careful of just what you name your character for they might just come true. _

* * *


End file.
